


be my little quarantine

by chaos_ineffable



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Good Omens: Lockdown, I had to write this, M/M, POV Crowley, Post-Canon, Quarantine, aziraphale catches up, caring Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_ineffable/pseuds/chaos_ineffable
Summary: Crowley was prepared to spend quarantine alone. Then Aziraphale surprises him, in more ways than one.A continuation of the Lockdown phone call.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 91
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics, Wholesome Tales of a Bastard Angel and a Nice Demon





	be my little quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 30th anniversary! I had to write this after watching the Lockdown video. I didn't have a choice in the matter. It's kind of rushed and unedited but I wanted to get it out today so there you go.

At first, Crowley thought it would be fine. He’s been alone before. He’s spent thousands of years by himself in the past, wandering from assignment to assignment. Surely, quarantine couldn’t be worse than the 14th century. 

He realizes, nearly a month in, that he is mostly wrong. Quarantine isn’t worse than the 14th century but it’s pretty damn close. There is nothing to do. He’s already read through the few books he’s bothered to keep around, a couple of them more than once. His flat is sparkling, cleaner than it has been in centuries. His plants are greener and more beautiful than ever, their leaves rustling with their constant trembling. He barely even has to yell at them anymore. Just being around the flat all day every day has them convinced that they’re one leaf spot away from destruction. He’s spent most of his time scrolling through his phone or binge watching whatever new show the television suggests. But even that gets boring eventually.

He’s considered calling Aziraphale more than once. The angel has probably found something to entertain himself with and Crowley will never get bored watching him enjoy himself. But that would be breaking the rules, wouldn’t it? Aziraphale’s never been one to outright break the rules, so any visits to the bookshop are out of the question. 

Crowley just has to find some way to entertain himself.

By the time May rolls around, he’s seriously considering taking a longer than average nap. A month long, at least. That’s when Aziraphale calls. And Crowley, in a moment of weakness, asks to stay at the bookshop until this is over. Stay at the bookshop and watch Aziraphale eat cake and drink themselves silly.

He knows Aziraphale will say no. But he can’t stop himself asking. He’s never been good at not asking questions. But there’s something in Aziraphale’s tone that almost sounds like longing. He doesn’t dwell on it, just hangs up the phone and saunters to his bedroom.

The angel said they couldn’t quarantine together and Crowley isn’t going to push it. He’s been working on that, not pushing Aziraphale into things they both want to do. Now that they don’t have a time limit or bosses watching their every move, it’s high time that Aziraphale start figuring out how to chase after what he wants without Crowley leading the way.

With a heavy sigh, Crowley sets his alarm for the end of July and crawls into bed. When he wakes up, he’ll treat the angel to lunch and a walk through the park. Who knows, maybe by then, Aziraphale will be ready to hold his hand.

\---

He wakes to his ringing landline. He grumbles and snatches his phone off the nightstand, glares at the date and buries his head under the blankets. It hasn’t even been a week since he fell asleep. Whoever is calling him can wait a couple months.

He’s almost asleep when his phone rings again. He growls and flings the blankets aside. There had better be a damn good reason for this call or he’s going to curse the poor sap with slow wi-fi for eternity.

“What,” he hisses, throwing as much demonic energy into that single word as possible. 

“Hello, Crowley. It’s me, Aziraphale!”

Crowley stares into a space for a moment. He was expecting the bland droning of a telemarketer not the joyful cry of an angel of the Lord. “…right. Hi, Aziraphale. Why are you calling me?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking, you see, and I realized that neither of us is suspectable to falling ill. We are celestial and occult, after all. We quite simply do not have the ability to get sick. And as this occurred to me, I realized that the bookshop does feel quite empty with only me here. And, well, you had mentioned that you’d like to- I was wondering if you’d- that is, if you’d be so willing-” an irritated sigh broke the nervous babbling, “What I mean to say is would you like to come stay at the bookshop until this is all over?”

Crowley smiles. Aziraphale’s ability to make the simplest of requests seem like an impossible task is really quite endearing.

“I’m sure I could manage that, angel,” he drawls. He’s happy that Aziraphale asked him, far happier than any demon has the right to be, but he still has a reputation to uphold. “Give me a bit to finish up a few things and I’ll grab something drinkable and pop over.”

He can almost see the angel’s happy wiggle. “Splendid! I’ll prepare some cake for you, my dear. Watch how you go!”

Three hours later, Crowley lets himself into the bookshop, a crate of wine tucked under one arm. He finds Aziraphale sitting in the back room, a cup of tea cradled in his fingers. Two plates piled with an assortment of pastries sit on the table. If Crowley had any interest in food, he would probably be salivating at the sweet smell of Aziraphale’s baking. 

“Looks good, angel. How many of them did you miracle?” He sets the wine where Aziraphale can appraise it and flops onto the couch across from Aziraphale’s chair.

Aziraphale looks affronted. “Please. As if I would ruin a perfectly good cake with a miracle. I baked all of these myself. Except for the cherries. But the taste is hardly noticeable.”

Crowley snickers and swipes a forkful of cake, barely registering what kind before swallowing it down. “Tastes good. You should bake more often.”

Aziraphale smiles and glances at the cake than at Crowley than focuses on his tea. “Thank you, my dear. Perhaps, when we are allowed to go outside again, I can bake us something for a picnic.”

Crowley takes another bite of cake, keeping his face carefully nonchalant. “Wine and cake in the park. Sounds nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale looks softer than ever, his eyes warm and focused wholly on Crowley. It’s almost enough to convince Crowley to let three little words slip into the air but Aziraphale remembers himself and straightens slightly, the warmth of his gaze shuttering and leaving Crowley feeling very cold. “It gives us something to look forward to, anyway. Now, how about a drink? I believe you’ve brought the perfect complement to this angel’s food cake.”

Silence falls between them while they wait for the wine to breathe. For the first time, Crowley realizes what he’s gotten himself into and starts to wonder if it was a good idea. Spending the next month, and possibly longer, in the bookshop with Aziraphale is wonderful. Even better because Aziraphale invited him to. But he’s already had to stop himself from confessing his love once and he’s only been here for half an hour. He doubts he can talk himself out of that specific terrible idea every time it pops into his brain. Maybe it would be best to make his excuses and hole up in his flat until that picnic.

He’s semi-aware of Aziraphale finishing the last of the pastries and miracling the plates away but all his attention snaps to the angel when he stands and states, “This is ridiculous. If we are going to be locked up together for the foreseeable future, then we might as well get this over with so we can enjoy our time together.”

Crowley’s heart stops beating. Aziraphale can’t mean what he thinks he means.

Aziraphale sits beside the demon, close enough their thighs are pressed together, and takes one of Crowley’s hands. “I’ve had a lot of time to think this past week and, well, I rather suspect I have kept you waiting long enough. It’s about time we stopped dancing around our feelings and acted on them, don’t you think? I love you, my dear, and I would like to take this chance to start showing you how much, if you’d let me.”

Crowley splutters out something that almost sounds like words, his long fingers wrapping around Aziraphale’s warm hand. “Angel, I- ngk,” is all he manages before he clamps his lips shut. He’s wanted this for so long and now it’s in his grasp. But he can’t bring himself to reach out and grab it. He can’t say those words until he knows Aziraphale is sure. He opens his mouth to say as much but freezes at the soft touch of lips against his cheek.

Aziraphale pulls back and places his head on Crowley’s frozen shoulder, “It’s okay, my dear. I’ll wait however long you need. We have forever to figure this out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! Thanks for reading!


End file.
